


The Lady's Guard

by Laine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/F, F/M, Porn With Plot, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-28
Updated: 2012-03-28
Packaged: 2017-11-02 15:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laine/pseuds/Laine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lady of Winterfell lies down with her knights.</p>
<p>Written for the <a href="http://mockyrfears.livejournal.com/2421.html">Game of Thrones Kink Meme</a> on LiveJournal.  The prompt was:  Jaime/Sansa/Brienne; threesome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lady's Guard

She must take a husband, her lords insist again and again. The political landscape of Westeros, and the North especially, is still in turmoil- surely she must want a companion, an ally. Surely a husband would make her feel safe.

The Lady of Winterfell only laughs at these suppositions; she’s forged her way North, fought a war, re-established her family’s stronghold with no help from a husband. She finds empowerment and security quite on her own.

But as she lies here in the massive bed modeled after the one that once belonged to her father, with the warm bodies of her Commanders, both Lord and Lady, on either side, she can’t help but feel quite safe indeed. 

Sansa reclines on the pillows and turns her face upward to be kissed, and both Commanders oblige: Jaime with eager, demanding lips and a presumptuous tongue, Brienne more gentle and hesitant. She smoothes her palms over their chests and nearly giggles at the similarity; both broad and muscled and flat, the only real difference being the sprinkling of fair hair on Jaime’s. On a wicked whim, she takes one of Brienne’s nipples between her fingertips and pinches. The other woman releases a soft moan, which Jaime echoes, his teeth closing over Sansa’s earlobe. She leans her hip into him and feels his hardness growing- well, why not? She’s slick as can be, and if the flush on Brienne’s cheeks and collarbone is any indication, the Maid of Tarth is not far behind.

Jaime moves down on the bed, nodding at Brienne to follow. He parts Sansa’s legs with his golden hand, and she quivers with anticipation- but then a delay, as he whispers instructions to Brienne. She’s growing impatient, and her foot begins to tap on the mattress; Jaime just catches her leg in his left hand and presses a kiss to her ankle before returning his attention to Brienne. 

Finally, he leans in and captures the Lady Commander’s mouth in a fierce, wild kiss. Sansa marvels over the difference between this and the sweet, tentative kisses she’d received from Brienne- their tongues lash together as frantically as their swords, and the Lady of Winterfell feels a little twinge in her sex when Brienne bites down on Jaime’s lip. 

She soon realizes that there’s another reason for the twinge- as his lips and tongue work over Brienne’s mouth, he’s managed to insinuate her hand between Sansa’s legs, guiding Brienne’s fingers into their lady’s cunt. “Like this,” she hears him whisper, and her head falls back when Brienne establishes a pulsing rhythm. 

A soft pressure on her clit, and she cries aloud. Jaime’s tongue draws slow, deliberate circles around the nub of flesh and nerves- she can feel her wetness combining with his saliva and trickling down her thighs. Brienne releases a low, quiet moan, and Sansa glances down- Jaime braces his weight on the golden hand, but she cannot see the other. Another moan from Brienne, and Sansa can guess well enough where his left hand might be. 

Everything is warm and wet and Jaime's hair is soft beneath her hand and Brienne's fingers are surprisingly steady and sure- her inner muscles flutter, and she comes on a high, light sigh. Sansa nestles contentedly back into her pillows and watches Jaime and Brienne. She's pushing her hips frantically into his fingers now, her short nails sinking into the skin of his shoulder. He kisses along the side of her neck, and she whispers his name. Sansa smiles to herself; Brienne has a definite weakness for handsome men, and in spite of his age and the wear and tear of battle, Jaime shines golden in the low light, strong and powerful and beautiful. 

Brienne's muscles are tightening, but more from effort than pleasure. She's improved tremendously, but she still has trouble releasing and succumbing. Sansa lets Jaime press a long, hungry kiss to Brienne's mouth before she grips the two heads of fair hair and pulls them both up.

She reaches up to cup Brienne's reddened cheek and kisses her softly, tasting a hint of her own quim on the other woman's lips. Meanwhile, Jaime buries his face in her breasts and lavishes attention on them, nibbling and sucking and kneading until her happy little hums turn to gasps and moans. She shifts her lower body and lets him rub his stiff cock in the crease between her hip and her groin- "Seven hells," he hisses, and she knows that it's time.

The Maid of Tarth is still exactly that, and she's made it clear to both Sansa and Jaime that she'd like to remain that way. Although the thought of watching her two knights fuck makes her shudder with arousal, Sansa has no intention of ignoring Brienne's terms. And in spite of the crude commentary he'd delivered on the subject, neither does Jaime. 

Sansa guides Jaime onto his back and sinks down onto his cock. Her eyes flutter shut as she seeks the right angle- ah, there it is. She rears back and pushes down, one hand balanced on Jaime's thigh while the other cups her own breast.

While her eyes are closed, she hears a low whisper- "Up here, wench." A shift of the mattress and a squeal, and Sansa opens her eyes. 

Brienne straddles Jaime’s head, one knee on either side, and he stretches his face up to suckle her cunt. The two women lock eyes, blue on blue, and lean forward in perfect concert. Swollen lips brush swollen lips, and Sansa rests her sweat-dampened forehead on Brienne’s, listening as her breath becomes more and more shallow and erratic. 

“Let it come, Brienne,” she whispers as her fingers dance over the Lady Commander’s breasts. 

And she does come, with such force that Sansa worries for a moment that she might fall down and crush Jaime’s face. But she only moves to collapse on the pillows beside him, one hand absently stroking his hair as she tries to catch her breath. Her damp skin glows rose-colored in the candlelight, shadows playing over her hard stomach and defined shoulder muscles- _she’s beautiful._ The observation pleases Sansa, and she quickens the undulations of her hips, letting Jaime press the golden hand into her arse and grind her into him-

He cries out his release, and she quickly follows, thighs tight around his hips and two fingers on her own clit. They all lie quietly afterwards, the scent of sweat and sex heavy in the warm, warm air. Jaime’s head rests on Brienne’s abdomen, and her fingers brush softly over his cheeks and brow. He turns his head to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist, and she smiles a radiant smile.

Sansa remains draped over Jaime, his softening cock nestled against her thigh. Heavy-lidded eyes glance across the room at the two longswords balanced against the wall, the pieces of armor strewn about the floor, the matching silver-and-white cloaks tossed over a chair.

The lady lies down with her knights, and she cannot remember the last time she felt so safe.


End file.
